


A Man of Worldly Knowledge and Impeccable Taste

by tamlane



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Age Difference, Awkward Sexual Situations, Cross-Generation Relationship, F/M, Humor, Loss of Virginity, Older Woman/Younger Man, Semi-Public Sex, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-05
Updated: 2013-04-05
Packaged: 2017-12-07 13:37:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/749121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tamlane/pseuds/tamlane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When James' mother sends him on a mission to procure new dress robes, he discovers he has a knack for assisting other shoppers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Man of Worldly Knowledge and Impeccable Taste

**Author's Note:**

> Written for **hp_humpdrabbles** 'Humpfest 2013'. Inspired by the prompt: _The prettiest dresses are worn to be taken off._ (March 2013)

James Potter stomped through Twilfitt and Tattings, huffing at the indignity of being sent to purchase new dress robes for another boring Ministry event in honor of his boring father. 

Before sending him into the shop with two hundred Galleons and demanding he come home with something nice _or else_ , his mother reminded him that none of this would be necessary if he hadn’t decided to organize an impromptu Quidditch match at the last Ministry event. And yeah, maybe drunken Quidditch in the dark in the Underminister’s garden hadn’t been his cleverest idea ever, and maybe several statues and one stray hedgehog had paid the price. But James thought that one particular save had been worth ripping the sleeve off his other new dress robes.

_Too bad they never found it_ , James thought as he flung garments aside on the racks looking for his size. He was sure one of his giggling admirers had absconded with the detached sleeve. Ah well, he supposed he couldn’t blame them for wanting a small piece of the devilishly charming and preternaturally athletic James Sirius Potter. 

He put his Keeper agility to good work dodging the ancient shopkeeper, although it wasn’t necessarily any amazing feat considering she was busy marking the hem on the robes of a portly man with a handlebar moustache. The shop apparently wasn’t busy enough on a Wednesday afternoon to merit additional help. Good. All he needed was some witch older than his Grandma – or any witch, for that matter – trying to show him the latest styles and upsell him on anything with, Merlin forbid, _embroidery_.

James shuddered. Godric, how he hated shopping for clothes.

He randomly picked a few winners (meaning they had sleeves and not too many other distinguishing features) and headed for the changing rooms. 

And stopped.

Okay, maybe this excursion wasn't a total waste of time, after all.

There, in front of the three-way mirror at the end of the changing rooms, stood a woman in a red dress. The operative word here was _woman_ because he didn't know any eighteen-year-old girls who had curves like _that_. She held her long, blonde hair on top of her head as she checked herself in the mirror from different angles. Every angle kept looking better and better to James.

He adjusted his armful of robes and leaned against the wall, enjoying the show. He probably shouldn't be seeing this, but he saw no reason to stop looking. After all, this appeared to be some sort of unisex arrangement, and it wasn’t his fault that she was standing there flaunting her long legs and bare back for all the world to see. He was totally innocent.

Still, when she caught his eye in the mirror, he jumped. And when she turned and gave him a lazy smile, his stomach seemed to flip over.

The view was even better from the front.

"Oh, excellent," she purred. "I could use a man’s opinion."

James straightened a bit because, yes, that's what he was. A man. More than that. He was a man of worldly knowledge and impeccable taste, and it obviously showed. This woman was beautiful _and_ perceptive.

"Tell me honestly," she said, propping her hand on one hip, which made the slinky material of the dress cling most deliciously to her arse. "Is this dress a bit too—" She bit her lip. "—young for me?"

"Hell no!" James jerked at his own exclamation. Where the hell did that come from? "I mean—" He cleared his throat. "—hell _o_. I'm James. And no. I think—" He paused, trying to figure out what he should think about the dress, other than the fact that it was making certain parts of his anatomy stiffen, which in turn made him glad he had an armful of robes to hide behind. "—the color is great."

"I’m Lavender," she introduced herself with a smirk. "And it wasn’t the color I was worried about, James. It was the amount of skin it shows."

She turned to face the mirror again, and James was left to ogle said skin. "Oh. Well." Since when did he speak in single-word sentences? That was Al's deal. He waved his hand dismissively, even though she couldn't see it. "I don’t think I would worry about that."

"I don’t know," she mumbled. "Suppose I bend over to sign the guest register." And to demonstrate the point, she leaned over, and James watched as that slit up the back exposed her lush thighs all the way to the curve of her arse. "Is it not too much?"

"No," James replied, wetting his lips. "No, I think it’s fine. Really."

"Well, then," she said in a bright voice. "That settles it." James was just congratulating himself on providing her with his invaluable opinion when she added, "You wouldn’t have time to help me out of it, would you?"

He swallowed heavily. Surely she didn't mean—

"It’s just… " She trailed off, her hand raking over the laced-up back of the bodice. "I don’t think I can undo this ribbon by myself." 

James briefly wondered how she tied it to begin with and then decided that he didn't care. At all. The important thing here was that it needed to be untied, and the shopkeeper was otherwise occupied, and it would be doing all of them a great disservice to not volunteer his assistance.

"No, of course not," he replied, impressed by the smoothness of his own voice. "I’d be glad to."

And then he tossed his armful of robes over one of the changing room doors and followed her into her own cramped changing room. The door closed with a soft 'click' behind them. Lavender stood facing the mirror, and James' eyes were drawn to her breasts in the reflection. The tight-fitting bodice thrust them up and together, practically begging him to bury his face against all of that soft flesh. 

Ah, maybe another day, if he were really lucky….

Shaking his head to clear it, he went to work on the ribbon. It was knotted, of course, and his fingers were trembling, and he was practically standing right on top of her in the small space, and she smelled _so good_. He wasn't sure what was going to happen here. He assumed he would untie the ribbon, and she would hold the bodice demurely to her chest while thanking him profusely and telling him how mature he was for his age for not taking advantage of her. Not that he would have any clue where to start, but she didn't need to know that.

As though reading his mind, she asked, "I can trust you to be a gentleman, right?"

James took a deep breath, finally loosening the ribbon holding her dress up. "Of course."

There was silence for a moment. Their eyes met in the mirror. Then she smiled and shook her head.

"That’s too bad," she said as she stepped out of the dress.

James would never quite remember what happened next. He remembered seeing a whole lot of naked female flesh – more than he'd ever seen in his life at one time – and then everything was a blur of hands and teeth and tongues and other body parts, and somehow he ended up burying himself inside hot, wet perfection. About twenty seconds later, he was slumped against her, spasming and gasping for breath, and she was running her fingers through his unruly auburn hair, and all he could think about was how freaking glad he was that someone had made off with his ripped sleeve.

"Sorry about that," he muttered against her neck, feeling his face burn. "That was just so hot."

He felt her shrug. "Maybe you can make it up to me at the Ministry Gala."

"You’ll be there?" James asked, and he couldn't even be bothered about the fact that he sounded like an excited second-year with his first racing broom.

"That’s what the dress is for," she replied. Then, running her thumb over his swollen lips, she added, "I can’t wait to get out of it again."

_The End_


End file.
